


Fighting to Live

by EJWalters



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Abuse, Angst, Bad Jokes, Distrust, F/M, Fluff, Guitars, Implied Suicide Attempt, Maybe Jim?, No Smut, St Bartholomew's Hospital, assult, but it doesn’t actually take place in the plot of the story, but it is discussed, haven't decided yet, it happened before the story begins, oc is a guitarist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:49:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EJWalters/pseuds/EJWalters
Summary: When Evangeline is attacked on her way home from a study group, her whole life is flipped upside down. But maybe it was for the best.





	1. Chapter 1

Evangeline was walking home from her study session with some of her classmates, lugging her guitar case along. Out of nowhere, a man stepped out of the shadows and just stood there, staring at her as she walked towards him. Evangeline’s steps faltered slightly for a moment before she continued walking with much more confidence than she actually felt. A glance at her surroundings showed that they were the only two living things on the street. Not even a cab was driving down the street. She was all on her own.

Evangeline tightened her grip on her guitar case.

She considered turning around and walking the other way or even simply walking to the other side of the road, but as the thought crossed her mind, the man started walking toward her, his steps purposeful. Adrenaline started seeping into her bloodstream as they got closer and closer. When she was about to pass by him, he reached for her. She swung her guitar case at his head as hard as she could and hit him in the face before running away as fast as her legs could take her.

She wasn’t fast enough.

Weighed down by her backpack and case, there was no way for Evangeline to make it far before the man caught up with her. He wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her feet off the ground. Evangeline started yelling as loud as her lungs would allow as she lifted her legs and then brought her feet down against her attacker’s knees as hard as she could. The man buckled to the ground, taking her with him, and causing her to land face first against the cement, making her cry out. She twisted so that she was able to elbow him in the face. He roared and pinned her to the ground, grabbing her by the hair and slamming her face into the sidewalk. Evangeline felt something in her nose crack and cried out again as her nose started bleeding before she started screaming and crying for help. She continued to struggle against the man as he pressed her cheek into the concrete, but it was no use. Still, she refused to give up.

Evangeline kept screaming and when the man covered her mouth with a hand, she bit, not holding back in the strength of her jaw. She tried not to retch as the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She tried to spit it in his face, but her neck couldn’t twist back that far. Still, at least it got the blood out of her mouth.

She kept screaming until she heard two sets of running footsteps draw near, a shouted “hey!” and some scuffling.

At last, the weight of her attacker was off of her and she could roll over and gasp for breath as her chest was no longer restricted by the crushing weight of the man and her backpack pushing her into the cement.

She lay there on the ground for what felt like an eternity before a new man with blue eyes, blonde hair and a grim look set on his face entered her line of sight.

Evangeline scrambled back from him and he was quick to put his hands up.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a doctor,” he soothed.

She looked up at him warily, but let him approach.

“Can you sit up for me?” he asked.

She squinted up at him warily, his features coming more into focus as her brain registered that he wasn’t a threat, and let him help her into an upright position. The man pushed her backpack off of her shoulders and started to look her over.

Evangeline frowned, “What happened to-?”

“My friend has him handcuffed to a light post with police on their. We need to get you to the hospital. Is there anyone we can call for you?” the doctor asked.

She shook her head. They had already called and she was sure they were on their way.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Evangeline Johnson.”

“When’s your birthday, Evangeline?”

“December second. What’s your name?”

“Doctor John Watson. My friend over there is Sherlock Holmes.”

Evangeline looked over and saw a tall man in a black coat with dark curly hair and angular cheekbones. That must have been the afamed Sherlock Holmes.

She nodded, “Okay. Can you make sure Greg takes my stuff?”

John wracked his brain for a moment, “Lestrade?”

She nodded again.

“I can do that. Do you know him?”

“Yeah,” she said, staring off into space a bit.

“I think you’re going into shock, Evangeline. Can I call you an ambulance?” he asked.

She frowned, “Why would you do that when we can just take a cab?”

“We? Would you like me to go with you?”

She shrugged, “If you like.”

“Alright. We’ll wait for the police to get here and talk to them for a bit and then we’ll take you to St. Barts, okay?”

She nodded numbly, “Okay. Where’s my guitar?”

Doctor Watson looked around and found it, “Right here,” he reached over and pulled it closer to them, “You put up quite the fight, Miss Johnson. You’re very brave.”

“Well, it was either that or get raped, killed, or both.”

Evangeline couldn’t remember much of what happened after that. She vaguely remembered flashing red and blue lights, the concern of a certain DI, a cab ride, and then the bright lights that only fluorescent lights could provide and the smell of disinfectant that only came from hospitals. She remembered Doctor Watson’s kindness and support and the steely gaze of fierce blue-green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The next thing Evangeline knew, she was waking up on a sofa in a completely unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar man sitting in a black leather chair across the room from her, his eyes closed and his hands pressed flat together under his chin like a steeple. Panic filled her chest as she remembered what had happened the last time she was alone with an unfamiliar man. She sat up quickly and gave a stuttering gasp as her chest flared with pain that only worsened as she tried to draw breath.

The man in the chair opened one eye and looked over at her, “I wouldn’t move too quickly if I were you.”

She glared at him and tried to serve back a biting comment, but couldn’t around the pain that came from breathing.

“Shallow breaths for a moment, I would think,” he remarked, closing his eye again.

Evangeline followed his advice and after a few moments, found she could breathe a little easier, “Who- who are you?” she asked.

The man opened both his eyes this time and turned his head to look at her, his hands falling to rest on the arms of his chair. He seemed annoyed at her for some reason, but she could see those blue-green eyes with their steely gaze again, “Sherlock Holmes. You’re Evangeline Johnson.”

She raised an eyebrow, not impressed, “Figure that out yourself, did you?” she said dryly.

He rolled his eyes impatiently and shouted, “John! She’s awake!” making her jump in surprise.

John. John Watson. The man who had helped her. And Sherlock was the man in the black coat.

“Sherlock, I was in the loo, not Africa,” John said irritably, entering the room from what appeared to be the kitchen, “Evangeline. You’re awake. Good,” he said, “How do you feel?”

“A bit confused, Doctor Watson.”

“John, please. How are you confused?” John sat in the overstuffed red armchair that was sitting across from Sherlock’s.

“Where am I?”

“Our flat,” Sherlock cut in, unimpressed and seemingly bored, “Next.”

“What happened?”

Sherlock groaned.

John glared at him, “You were attacked-”

“Yes and you and Mr. Holmes saved me. What happened after that?”

John frowned at her brusqueness, “Then we phoned the police, and took you to St. Barts where they told us you have a broken nose, three broken ribs, and several scrapes and bruises.”

She nodded, “So I’m guessing I need to go to the Yard and give a statement?”

“Yeah, but they said only when you’re ready. They told us not to rush you,” John said.

Evangeline got to her feet, “Well let’s go, then.”

“At least have a cuppa, first,” said a voice at the door leading to the stairs, “You had quite the night from what I heard.”

She looked to her left and saw a kind-looking older woman.

“You look like you’ve been to hell and back,” she remarked.

Evangeline sat back down and accepted the cup of tea offered to her, “Thank you. Who are you?”

“I’m Mrs. Hudson, their landlady. What’s your name, dear?”

“Evangeline.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely name.”

“Thank you,” she took a sip of the tea, “And thanks for the tea.”

Mrs. Hudson offered a kind smile and gently touched Evangeline’s face, brushing her cheek with her thumb, “Poor dear,” she said almost to herself, “Why don’t you go take a shower? You’ll feel loads better and I’m sure the boys wouldn’t mind letting you use their loo. And I could get John to get a clean towel and one of his jumpers for you. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all,” John added helpfully.

“But, I’ve got to go to the Yard-” Evangeline started.

Sherlock cut her off, “Arguing with Mrs. Hudson will do you little good. Go wash up. The Yard can wait.”

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock like he had just torn away his clothes to reveal he was actually dressed in drag and announced he was going to pole dance in the middle of London.

“Right then,” Evangeline got to her feet, “Where’s the bathroom then?”

“Down the hall, last door on the left,” John offered, looking at Sherlock much the same way Mrs. Hudson was, but more as if he were just realizing he already knew that Sherlock was dressed in drag beneath the suit.

Evangeline found the bathroom and carefully undressed. Her trousers and pants weren’t a problem, but her shirt and bra proved to be more difficult as she was reminded of her three broken ribs. She managed to pull her right arm through the sleeve of her shirt and slowly pushed it over her head, doing her best to move her left arm as little as possible. She let out a frustrated breath as she moved slower than molasses, but she was finally able to get her shirt over her head and able to let it slip over her arm and land on the bathroom floor. Her bra was much easier as she simply reached back and unclipped it with her right hand and let it join the rest of her clothes on the ground.

She turned to the mirror and looked at the reflection that stared back at her. It was her face, she knew that, but it didn’t feel like it. This face was scraped up and bruised and covered in dirt. She had stitches over her right eye and across the bridge of her nose. Her left cheek was black and blue and red with scrapes and bruises from the concrete of the sidewalk. She could see where her ribs were broken, as her chest was covered in a giant bruise where they had cracked. Her hair was a dirty matted mess that would take at least an hour to brush out. Evangeline frowned as she realized she wouldn’t be able to brush her hair out by herself. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson would be willing to help her with it. She looked back at her face and reached up to gently brush her fingers across the skin. It was still her face, but it didn’t feel like it. Her body didn’t feel like her own.

She felt dirty, and not just because she was covered in blood and sweat and dirt and grime from the night before. This kind of dirty went deeper. It went under her skin. She felt tainted, contaminated even. Even her soul felt dirty, like a child had decided that it would make a nice pie tin for a mud pie. Evangeline physically shuddered as she remembered the feel of that man’s hands on her as he held her down against the sidewalk. She felt helplessness flood her mind as she felt the weight of the man heavy on her back as it crushed her chest into the concrete. She didn’t even know his name. He was just some random person as far as she knew. And she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Evangeline turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face and took as deep a breath as she could with minimal pain and braced her hands against the sink as she felt the water run down her face. She licked her lips and tasted salt. Whether from sweat residue or tears, she couldn’t tell. She looked back up at the mirror that hung over the sink and looked at the face that stared back at her. Beneath all the swollen bruises and angry scratches, her own face was twisted with a pain that too many people would be able to understand. But in that moment, it felt like no one could even begin to understand how helpless, angry, dirty, and alone she felt. The eyes that stared into her soul had that same almond shape and maple syrup color that they had had since she was an infant, but they weren’t her eyes. These eyes had changed so much in under twenty-four hours, she was amazed they even looked like the ones she had had her whole life. But now, they looked hollow. Void of the spark so many people complimented her on. It had been stomped on and extinguished by size twelve boots.

She studied those eyes as her thoughts raced, question after question flitting across her mind and then scurrying away just as quickly. Why had this happened to her? What had compelled him to do such a thing? How would she even begin to cope with what he had done to her? Would she ever be able to trust a man again? The actions of one man had changed her life completely and she was just starting to understand just how different her life would be.

Evangeline tore her gaze away from the mirror and turned her back to it to face the shower. Maybe if she scrubbed hard enough, she would be able to feel at least a little cleaner. She turned on the water and took a few moments to figure out which way was cold and which way was hot before stepping into the shower and standing under the warm spray that rained down from the shower head.

The warmth of the water was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it relaxed her muscles a bit and a curse because it made her cuts sting with the fury of hell. After standing under the warm water for a while, she decided it was time to wash herself of London concrete, hospital, and the feeling of the man’s hands on her body. She poured shampoo on her hands and reached up to wash her hair, but found she couldn’t quite reach it without white hot pain flaring in her chest. After several attempts, Evangeline gave up and started calling for Mrs. Hudson, hoping the landlady would be able to help her.

“What do you need?” a deep timber answered instead.

She rolled her eyes, “I called Mrs. Hudson for a reason, Mr. Holmes.”

“She’s gone out to the shops for groceries,” Sherlock said, “And call me, Sherlock.”

“Any idea when she’ll be back?” Evangeline felt her heart drop to her toes.

“Not for a long while. What do you need?”

“I need help.”

“You need help showering?” he sounded genuinely confused.

“Yes. Have you ever tried to wash your hair with broken ribs?”

“I see. Could I be of assistance in Mrs. Hudson’s absence?”

Evangeline felt her heart trip over itself and her breath hitched in her chest, “Isn’t there another woman around? Do you have a girlfriend? Or maybe John has one?”

“John’s wife should be here soon. Want me to send her in when she arrives?” Sherlock asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” her relief was evident in her voice.

“Hardly. Although, I don’t understand why my assistance isn’t a valid option,” he muttered.

“It’s not about the validity of the option, Curls.”

“Then what is it?”

“Ask John. He should be able to explain it for you.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but she heard retreating footsteps and assumed he had gone to do just that.

Evangeline sat on the shower floor with her legs crossed under her and waited, trying to think of anything except what had happened the night before. Time was nonexistant as it passed while she waited before she heard a light knock on the bathroom door and then the sound of it opening a bit before a feminine voice sounded.

“Evangeline?”

“Yeah?” she answered.

“I’m Mary, John’s wife. Sherlock sent me in. You okay?”

“Bit of a loaded question right now, Mary.”

“I heard. Sherlock said you need a hand washing up?”

“Yeah. Would you mind?”

“Not at all. I’m a nurse I’ve done this and far worse many a time. Why don’t you plug the drain and run the bath and I’ll go and get a big cup, yeah?”

Evangeline did as Mary instructed and waited for the bathtub to fill with water as she waited for Mary’s return.

“Alright, now I’m going to pull back the shower curtain, okay?” Mary said.

“Okay.”

So she did and had Evangeline sit with her back to the rest of the bathroom and knelt behind her. As Mary started to wash Evangeline’s hair, she struck up a conversation.

“So, Angel, have you got a job?” she asked.

It took her a moment to respond to the unexpected inquiry, but eventually she did, “Yeah, I do.”

“Where do you work?”

“Scotland Yard. I’m in forensics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So do you work under Anderson?”

Evangeline made a face, “Yep.”

“Sherlock hates him,” Mary chuckled.

“He’s not the only one. He’s a horrible person and he’s terrible at forensics. I don’t know why they’ve kept him on so long.”

Mary let out a little laugh, “And apparently he’s having an affair with Sergeant Donovan, if you believe anything Sherlock says about him.”

Evangeline let out a laugh and then winced, “You should. They’re horrible at hiding it, too. They couldn’t be more obvious about it if they had a blinking neon sign. And Philip’s married, too.”

“Wonder if his wife knows,” Mary hummed.

“If she doesn’t, she’s either an idiot or having an affair of her own.”

“Or she might be in denial.”

“That, too.”

“Tip your head back and close your eyes, love,” Mary instructed.

Evangeline obeyed and felt the other woman pour water over her head to rinse the soap out of her hair. It was a wonderfully refreshing feeling. “I’m guessing John told you what happened?”

“He did. It’s a horrible thing that man did to you.”

She nodded and felt a heavy shudder run through her body. She opened her mouth to reply, but all she was able to manage were choked sobs as she trembled in the bathwater. Evangeline covered her mouth with her hand and continued to sob as she began to finally process what had happened to her. 

Mary crooned at her, “Oh, darling, it’s alright,” and put her arm around her shoulders.

Evangeline leaned into her touch and crumbled into the wall of the bathtub, neither woman caring if Mary got wet. Mary wrapped her arms around her more firmly and comforted her as best she could, murmuring reassurances to her and reminding her that she was alright, that she was safe, and that nothing bad would happen to her. 

“How do you know?” Evangeline looked up at Mary with red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes, “How do you know nothing bad is going to happen to me?”

Mary gently cupped her face and wiped the tears from her cheeks, “Because I won’t let it.”

“Do you promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Evangeline nodded and sniffed, pulling away from the safety of Mary’s embrace and wiping her face, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, love. Ready to keep going?”

Evangeline nodded.

Mary ran some warm water from the tap to heat up the water that had cooled around Evangeline before they continued.


	3. Chapter 3

After Evangeline was clean, Mary helped her dry off and get dressed in one of John’s old jumpers and an extra pair of leggings that she didn’t fit anymore. She had brought them from her house after John had called her, thinking that the poor girl that her husband had told her about might want a new change of clothes.

“Better?” Mary asked after Evangeline was dressed and comfortable.

Evangeline nodded, “Much. Thank you.”

Mary waved it away as she went to the door, “Think nothing of it.”

When Evangeline walked out of the bathroom, she was surprised to find a warm mug of tea practically thrust in her face.

“Here. Drink this. John said it would help,” said the gruff voice behind the hand holding the mug.

She gingerly took the mug from the hand and peaked around it to find Sherlock looking extremely uncomfortable. She offered a small smile, “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Sherlock, if you would be so kind,” he corrected.

“Right. Sorry.”

Mary watched their interaction from behind Evangeline with a huge grin. Sherlock scowled at her and went back to whatever he had been doing before giving Evangeline her tea. Mary led Evangeline back into the lounge as Evangeline sipped at her tea and took a seat on the sofa. Evangeline walked over to a comfortable looking black leather chair and curled up in it and was surprised to see a little girl crawl over to her.

She smiled down at her, “Hello, little one. Who might you be?”

“That’s Rosie, my daughter,” Mary said, walking over to pick up the child and carry her back to where she had been sitting before.

“She’s adorable,” Evangeline smiled as best she could without hurting her abrasions to her face.

“Thank you!”

Mary played with her daughter while Evangeline played with the ends of her damp hair, staring off into space. She noticed that Mary and Sherlock started to have a conversation about something, but she didn’t pay attention to what it was about. It didn’t matter. She reached up and brushed her fingers across her nose where the line of stitches sat and thought about what would happen at the Yard when she gave her statement. How would she write it? Or would she even write it? Maybe they would record it on a video camera. Would she be okay with that?

An increasingly familiar timber voice startled her out of her thoughts and she looked up to see Sherlock looking at her expectantly, a hairbrush in his hand.

She frowned at him, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Sherlock sighed, clearly annoyed, “I asked you if you wanted help brushing your hair.”

“Patience, Sherlock,” Mary scolded.

Evangeline felt her heart rate rise in her chest and looked over to Mary, who nodded.

“You can trust him, Angel.”

Evangeline hesitated, but slid her eyes to look back up to Sherlock and nodded slowly, “Yes, please.”

“Come sit over here, then,” he said brusquely.

“Gently, Sherlock,” Mary reminded lightly.

Sherlock nodded and offered a hand to Evangeline.

Evangeline carefully reached up and took his hand and looked over at Mary again, who nodded encouragingly, before letting him help her to her feet and lead her into the kitchen where he had her sit on a stool and put the brush to her tangled mess of curls and tried to pull it down. Evangeline winced and whimpered quietly.

“See, I told you it would go terribly, I’m already hurting her,” Sherlock said. His voice was a tad muffled so he must have turned to talk to Mary, Evangeline thought.

There were footsteps and then gentle tugging before the brush free of Evangeline’s hair, “That’s because you’re doing it wrong, Sherlock. Watch how I do it, okay?” Mary’s voice said.

Evangeline glanced back at her and received an encouraging smile.

“Where did John go?” she asked.

“He went to get lunch, but he should be back soon. I hope you like pasta, Angel,” Mary told her.

Evangeline nodded.

Mary instructed Sherlock on how to properly brush hair and showed him how one starts at the bottom and works their way up bit by bit, working through tangles as gently as possible.

“Think you got it?” Mary stood in front of Evangeline and held out the hair brush.

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?” Sherlock replied, plucking the brush from Mary’s hand, and giving it another go, “All though I don’t understand how this is going to get her to trust me more.”

Mary coughed.

“Sorry, Evangeline. That’s not the only reason I’m doing this,” Sherlock amended, “I also want to be of help.”

Evangeline gave a small chuckle, “It’s okay, Curls.”

The brush started to move carefully and gently through Evangeline’s tangled mane. Sherlock said nothing as he brushed her hair, but she didn’t mind. She actually preferred the silence. It was comfortable and it was nice to just be able to focus on the feeling of the brush running through her hair, even if it kept getting caught in tangles that had to be brushed out. It took about fifteen minutes before the brush was running smoothly through her curls. Sherlock moved to put the brush on the table and stop, but she looked up at him.

“Would you keep brushing my hair, actually?” she asked.

He frowned, “Why? It’s brushed, there is no need for me to continue.”

She gave a small, sheepish shrug, “It feels nice.”

Sherlock glanced at Mary, who nodded and made a “go on” motion, then pulled his hand back from the table and continued to brush Evangeline’s hair.

She closed her eyes and felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders, “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“You’re welcome.”

Evangeline was sitting in the black leather chair again, holding a napping Rosie in her arms. She took the opportunity to properly look around the flat. The kitchen was a complete disaster, nearly every flat surface covered with sciency equipment. That was undoubtedly Sherlock’s. She looked around the living room and noted a small stack of papers stuck to the mantle of the fireplace with a knife and a skull sitting on the opposite end of it and a large mirror hanging over it. Next to the mantle was a built in bookshelf filled to the brim with books. She carefully stood and walked over to it and looked at the titles that decorated the many spines of the books. She was surprised to find Jane Eyre, Frankenstien, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, and Little Women among the titles.

“I didn’t take you to be a man of the classics,” she said, looking over to where Sherlock laid on the couch flat on his back, his hands pressed together under his chin.

He hummed, “I find them to be beneficial to understanding the way ordinary people think.”

She scoffed, “Come off it. You enjoy them.”

“They’re not terrible, but they are boring. Especially the Jane Austen ones.”

Evangeline laughed, “You remind me of Mr. Darcy.”

He didn’t answer.

She sighed and looked down at the little one asleep in her arms and marveled at her innocence. She knew nothing of the world except the love of her parents, Mrs. Hudson and one Sherlock Holmes. She didn’t know anything of the horridness that seeped through the cracks of joy. As Evangeline looked down at her, she reached up and stroked little Rosie’s nose and made a silent promise to do whatever she could to protect her.

“Yes, she is quite the wonder, isn’t she?” Sherlock’s voice said in her ear.

Evangeline yelped and jumped in surprise and then quickly looked down to see if Rosie had woken up, “Don’t do that! You scared me to death!”

“Obviously not. You’re still breathing.”

She glared at him, “That’s not the point, Curls.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Because you have curly hair.”

“As do you. These facts are obvious. Why does the nickname come into play?”

She just smiled a bit and shook her head, looking back down at Rosie, “You’re right. She is quite a wonder.”

Sherlock watched her, noticing her gentle smile and warm demeanor, and wondered what it was about babies that made people so happy. Sure, Rosie was better than most of them were, but she was still a lump of flesh with barely any motor skills and little known intelligence. A wonder indeed.

Evangeline smoothed Rosie’s little baby hairs and set her in the crib that was set under the window between the sofa and the table that served as a desk. She carefully placed a blanket over her and set a little elephant plushie beside her and then straightened and grimaced a little from the pain that flared in her ribs.

“You could have asked me to put her down, you know,” Sherlock said.

She gave a half smile, “I know. I didn’t want to disturb her, though.”

“So you willingly put yourself in more pain than you’re already in?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

“Why?”

She giggled, “I just told you.”

He shook his head, muttering something about never being able to truly understand “goldfish” as he walked over to the kitchen. Evangeline simply picked up a random book from the table and sat in the black leather chair that was quickly becoming a favorite of hers and began to read, happy that it was Hamlet, an old favorite of hers.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she was in the second act when John came bursting into the room, calling for Sherlock.

“He went out somewhere a while ago, not sure where. What do you need him for?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Where’s Mary?”

“Went to the shops ages ago to get groceries. What do you need, John?”

He shuffled in place uncomfortably and opened his mouth to say something when a man with salt and pepper hair ran in, “Oh good you’re already here,” he said to John, “Is she here?”

“I’m over here, Greg. What’s wrong?” Evangeline got to her feet, dropping the book on the chair.

“Evan, I’m so so so sorry, I don’t know how it happened-”

“Greg,” she interrupted, “Take a breath, calm yourself, and tell me what’s happened.”

He did as told and looked at her worriedly, “He got out.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, “Who?”

He looked her in the eye, “Him.”

Evangeline felt her heart stop in her chest, “Greg, this isn’t funny.”

“Good, cuz I’m not joking.”

“Who got out of where?” John asked, looking between them in confusion, “And how do you two know eachother?”

“Evan’s my goddaughter,” Greg said, “I’ve looked after her since her parents died.”

“Right, okay. And who are you talking about?”

Evangeline winced, and looked over at him, “Jonathan Moriarty, brother of the infamous James Moriarty.”


	4. Chapter 4

John blinked, “Sorry?”

“James Moriarty had a brother, named Jonathan,” Evangeline repeated.

“Right. Okay. How do you know him?”

She grimaced, “That’s a long story, and one I don’t have time for right now. I need to get somewhere safe. If he’s out-”

“Out of where?”

“A high security prison, John. If he’s gotten out then he’ll come for me,” Evangeline said, her voice starting to shake, “God, this can’t be happening,” she brought her hands to her hair and closed her eyes.

“Who’s coming for you?” Sherlock’s voice sounded from behind her, making her jump.

“Jonathan Moriarty,” Greg supplied, “James’s brother.”

“He had a brother?”

“Yes. And he’s even worse than Jim, trust me,” Evangeline said, “Which is why I need to leave.”

“Like hell you are!” Greg exclaimed, “You’re staying right here where I can see you!”

“Greg, he’ll kill you!” she cried.

“John, pack your bags, you’re going on holiday with Rosie and Mary to my brother’s,” Sherlock said, shucking his coat and scarf and hanging them on the coat rack.

“What?” John asked.

“If this man is even a hair more dangerous than his brother, you need to be able to protect my goddaughter. I’ve already texted Mycroft, he’s making the arrangements and calling Mary to let her know,” Sherlock walked over to the black leather chair and sat down, gracefully draping one leg over the other.

“What about me?” Evangeline asked.

“You’ll stay here with me, Angel,” he said matter of factly.

“What?” Greg voiced her thoughts perfectly.

Sherlock looked up at him, “We both know I can protect her better than you can, don’t argue with me it’s a waste of breath.”

Greg’s mouth opened and closed like a fish for a moment before he swallowed his pride and nodded, “Yeah. You can. I’ll grab you your things, Evan, be back in a bit,” he kissed her cheek and went to do just that.”

John started going around the flat, collecting different things of Rosie’s and putting them in the baby bag. Evangeline blinked as she recalled the face of the man that had attacked her the night before- had it really been less than twenty four hours?- and felt her legs give out from under her.

In a flash, Sherlock was at her side, “Angel? What is it?”

“It was him,” she whispered, and then started crying, “It was him! Oh my-!” she started sobbing, turning to hide her face in Sherlock’s chest lest he see her cry. 

She felt a warm pair of arms pull her into a comforting chest and a hand rubbing up and down her back while the other cradled the back of her head. Mary. She hushed Evangeline, whispering promises that she would be alright and that nothing would happen to her.

“Mary-” John started.

“I know, John,” she said.

“We’ve got to go,” he said.

“I know. But I’m staying here with Sherlock and Angel. You’re going to Mycroft’s with Rosie,” she said.

“Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.”

“I can protect Angel better than anyone else here. We both know that’s true. And right now, she needs me more than Rosie. Rosie has you.”

John sighed but nodded, “You’re right. Of course you’re right, you always are. Just be careful, okay?”

“I always am. Mycroft has a car downstairs for you. It’s got all your stuff in it and Rosie’s.”

John nodded, collected his child, kissed his wife, and went downstairs.

With her husband and child gone, Mary turned her full attention to the shaking woman in her arms, “Angel, what happened?”

“The man who attacked me last night,” Evangeline said in the smallest voice Mary had ever heard, “He was-” she couldn’t finish her sentence.

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

She nodded.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock asked, confused.

Mary looked over at him, “The man who attacked her last night was Jonathan Moriarty.”

“Interesting. Do you have any idea why he would attack you, Angel?”

When she looked over at him, nodding, Sherlock was surprised by how much she resembled a small, frightened child.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” he asked.

“Gently, Sherlock,” Mary reminded.

He nodded, “Right. Sorry. But if I’m honest I don’t really know how else to phrase it.”

Evangeline giggled, “You’re funny.”

He looked at her, puzzled, and then shook his head, “Thank you, I guess. Would you like to tell me why Jonathan Moriarty would attack you, Evangeline?”

“To rattle me, throw me off my game, make me vulnerable,” she answered.

“Well, he succeeded,” Sherlock observed.

Mary went to scold him but Evangeline chuckled, “Yeah, he did. But not for much longer. I’m going to get him and this time, I’m not going to put him back in jail, I’m going to kill him.”

“Are you sure that’s the path you want to go down?” Sherlock asked.

She nodded, “More sure than you know. You could probably figure out what he did to me with your little brain thingy. What do you call it?”

“Deduction,” he told her, “And I have an idea, yes.”

“What did he do to you?” Mary asked gently.

Evangeline got to her feet and went and sat on the plush red chair across from Sherlock, “When I first met Jonathan Moriarty, he introduced himself as Andrew Standage. I was running late for work and I bumped into him, spilling his coffee on the both of us. He was sweet, kind even. Offered to buy me a coffee even though I was the one who spilled his. I told him that I didn’t have the time, so he asked me when I got off and where I worked. I told him and after my shift was over, we went and got coffee. He was exactly the kind of man I was looking for, funny, kind, animated, and so we went on another date. And another, and another. Eventually we were exclusive and then he asked me to move in with him. So I did. I was in awe of how money didn’t seem to be an issue with him. He had a nice flat in the city and all of his furniture was comfortable and nice and he always spoilt me, far more than he should have. I guess he just swept me off my feet. But then a few weeks after I had settled in, he started acting… different. His temper got shorter, he started shouting more, he uh, stopped asking for permission for things and just did what he wanted when he wanted. He told me if I went to the police he’d kill Greg, so I stayed quiet.”

“Not entirely,” Sherlock said.

She shook her head, “No. Not entirely.”

“What did you do, Angel?” Mary asked gently.

Evangeline took in as big a breath as her ribs would allow and let it out slowly, “I attempted suicide. Andr- Jonathan took me to the hospital and then because it was an attempted suicide, I was put in the psych ward and I told the psychologist assigned to my case everything that had happened over the last few months and they told the police, who told Greg, who told Mycroft, who got him locked up until he apparently escaped.”

Mary let out a breath, “Well, he really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

Evangeline let out a little laugh, her protective armour building piece by piece as she mentally readied herself for whatever Jonathan would throw her way, “Yeah, he did. But I don’t want you guys to get in the middle of this-“

Sherlock didn’t even let her finish her sentence, “Well, fortunately for you, that isn’t exactly your choice, is it?”

Evangeline blinked in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“The actions of others are not your responsibility. Which is good for you because I don’t think Mary and I are going to leave you alone to work this out by yourself.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he didn’t let her. 

“I’ve been up against a Moriarty before, I’m probably the only person who knows what it’s like,” he said. 

She shook her head, “Jonathan is different than James. James lived by his own rules, a code, he called it. Jonathan doesn’t have a code, Sherlock. He has no rules.”

“You met his brother?” Mary asked. 

Evangeline chuckled darkly, “Oh I met him alright. I tried to leave Jonathan for him. He was more tame. More controlled. But he wouldn’t let me. He said I had made my choice and I had to live with it. But he did show me some kindness. Made sure Jonathan showed restraint. Let me stay with him if his brother got too rough too many times. His flat was a haven for me.”

Sherlock presses his fingers together under his chin, “Interesting. You cared for him.”

“In a sick, twisted way he was kind to me. Kinder than Jonathan. But when I heard he had died I wasn’t sad. I was terrified of what Jonathan would be like without him to be around to keep him in line, though.”

“And that’s when you attempted your suicide,” Sherlock concluded. 

Evangeline nodded and wiped at a stray tear, “You don’t know what it’s like. Living with someone who hurts you in every way they can because they think it’s  _ fun _ .”

Mary put her hand on Evangeline’s shoulder, “You are so strong, Angel.”

She let out a wry laugh, “I tried to kill myself, Mar. How is that a display of strength?”

“You were at your ropes end. You didn’t know what else to do to escape,” Sherlock said, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees and looked her in the eyes, “Evangeline, never doubt your strength or your capabilities.” He reached up and ever so gently held her face in his hands, brushing her tears away with his thumbs. She shied away at first before leaning into his warm, comforting touch, bringing one of her hands up to cover his own. 

Sherlock noted how small her hands were compared to his, and how small and fragile she seemed, but he knew after hearing her story she was anything but that.

“Sherlock?” She asked softly. 

His eyes snapped to hers, her voice having brought him out of his thoughts, “Yes, Angel?”

“Can I have a hug?” She was so timid and shy.

“Of course you can,” he knelt on the ground before her and caught her when she practically fell into his arms, wrapping her own securely around his neck.

Evangeline buried her face in his neck and took a deep, calming breath, “You won’t let him hurt me, right?” Her voice was so small. 

“No one will ever hurt you again, Angel,” he promised earnestly, “Not while I’m here.”


	5. Chapter 5

They sat that way for a long while before Sherlock realized that Evangeline had fallen asleep in his arms. He looked at Mary helplessly and she chuckled. 

“Just carry her to bed, Sherlock. God knows she could use the rest,” she instructed. 

Carefully, and not without quite a bit of struggle, Sherlock got to his feet, carrying Evangeline bridal style, and carried her to his room and put her to bed. He brushed some of the hair that had fallen in her face away and turned off the light on his way out.

He went back to the living room and flopped into his chair with a great big dramatic sigh. 

Mary looked up from where she was reading on the sofa, “What is it?”

He shrugged, “I’ve no idea. How is it that she doesn’t trust me, but she trusts me to protect her?”

Mary made note of the page she was on and closed the book, tossing it on the coffee table and giving Sherlock her full attention, “She’s scared, Sherlock. And she’s been through some very traumatic things. One of them as recent as last night. Give her time. She’ll come ‘round.”

A beat of silence passed between them before he asked, “Why do I care? Why does my chest ache and my heart…  _ blister _ with anger when I think about what’s happened to her?”

Mary smiles at him sympathetically, “Because you’re human, Sherlock. And what Jonathan did to her is a horrible thing that would make any good man red with anger.”

Sherlock grimaced, “Human,” he said with some disgust, “What a dreadful thing to be.”

She laughed, “You’ve got that right. If I had to chose to be something else I’d probably want to be a cat of some sort.”

His brow furrowed at that, “Why a cat?”

She shrugged, “I dunno. They get to do what they want and no one holds them responsible. They just say ‘oh it’s just a cat’. I could knock things over and no one would care.”

He chuckled, “I see.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What would you want to be?”

He thought for a moment but when he opened his mouth to answer, breaking glass sounded instead of his voice, followed shortly by a scream. 

Mary moved before he could even blink, running towards his bedroom with a speed he didn’t even think was possible for her and he realized that’s where the sound had come from.  _ How had she connected the dots before he had? _ He thought as he ran after her.

When he got back to his bedroom, he found it partly destroyed, shards of window glass scattered about, his bedsheets thrown across the room, his lamp on the floor with the lightbulb broken and blood on the side of it, and smeared blood on the window sill, spelling out a messy, hurried, “Jon-“.

Sherlock stared at it, “He took her. Right from under our noses,” He said slowly. His voice was flat, emotionless in an attempt to cover the boiling anger. 

Mary came to a stand beside him, “Well then I guess we’ll just have to get her back.”


	6. Chapter 6

Evangeline sat in the back of the car Jonathan was driving, glaring daggers towards the back of his head, twisting her wrists behind her back trying to get them freed from the rope tying them together. 

“You can glare all you want, my love, but you’re stuck with me,” he said, glancing in the mirror back at her. 

Evangeline rolled her eyes, “Choke and die, Jon.”

“We can save that for later,” he winked at her. 

She felt her blood run cold, “So what are you going to do?” She asked, trying to cover her nervousness, “Kill me?”

Jonathan chuckled, “Why would I kill you? I just got you back, silly girl.”

She shuddered and wished that he would just kill her. It would be so much easier, “Didn’t you get the message that I don’t want you when I sent you to prison?”

Jonathan laughed this time, “Oh, sweetheart, that was just a bit of fun. I made so many friends in prison! You should meet some, they were wonderful.”

She froze. How could she be so stupid? Prison should have been the last place they sent him. Of course he would make friends with other people just as horrible as he was. Evangeline sat silently and prayed that Mary and Sherlock would be able to find her.

When Jonathan stopped the car, it was in front of a large house in the country. Evangeline recognized it immediately. It was the Moriarty family house. It was where James took her when Jonathan had been too harsh with her to allow her to recuperate. But she wasn’t here with James. She was here with Jonathan. She wished to God James was still alive, but knew he was dead.

Jonathan got out of the car and walked around to the back. He opened the back door and roughly pulled Evangeline out. She hissed at him through her teeth from the pain.

“Careful! I’m still recovering from last night,” she growled.

“Ah yes. Apologies, pet. How are your ribs?” He started pulling her towards the front door of the house.

She glared at him, “Broken.”

“Sorry to hear it.” He opened the door and pulled her through it.

She laughed mirthlessly, “Oh, I’m sure you are.”

“If I untie you, do you promise not to run?”

She spat in his face by way of response.

He slapped her, making her head snap to the side. Then he grabbed her face between his fingers, squishing her cheeks together, and kissed her roughly.

“You are mine,” he growled, “Understand?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks against her will as she nodded.

“Good. Now are you going to run if I untie you?” He repeated.

She shook her head obediently. 

“Good girl,” he released her and she bowed her head as he turned her around to cut through her ropes.

Evangeline was numb. She was back at her safe haven but this time with the person she had been safe from before. Oddly enough, all she could think was that Sherlock had broken his promise. A promise he had made only hours ago. He hadn’t kept her safe. He had let her be snatched right from under his nose. She should never have trusted him. 

“YOU WHAT???” Shouted Greg.

“Not me,” Sherlock said, clearly annoyed by Greg’s reaction, “Jonathan.”

Greg pointed a finger accusingly at him, “But you let it happen.”

Mary frowned, “Now hang on just a moment. We were in a completely different room. How were we supposed to know that it wasn’t safe for her to be in a different room under the same roof?”

“You underestimated him.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, “And you can rest assured that will never happen again. For now we have to figure out how to get Evangeline back. Which means we first need to figure out where she is.”

“Did she ever talk about any place Jonathan took her when she was with him?” Mary asked. 

Greg sat in the red chair and put his face in his hands, thinking. “She talked more about where James took her than anything. Their family house, I think she said. He would take her there when Jonathan had been too rough with her.”

“Yes, she mentioned something about that when she told us about it,” Sherlock said, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, “What can you tell us about that place?”

Greg shrugged, “It’s in the country, from what she said. Not huge, but big enough. Not overly grand, but grander than the house she grew up in with me before we moved out here to London.”

“Are there any houses in the country listed under the name Moriarty? Or maybe an alias?” Mary asked. 

Greg shrugged, “I dunno. We could look into it, I suppose. But why would he take her there.”

“Evangeline spoke of Jim fondly. He took care of her while she was recovering from whatever Jonathan had done to her,” Sherlock said, “If I were him, I would take her somewhere she felt safe once and hope that the familiarity would set her at ease.”

Greg nodded, “Right. I’ll get looking. If you know anything or find anything and you don’t call me, I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Save that for Jonathan,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 


	7. Chapter 7

Evangeline rubbed her wrists where the rope had rubbed them raw when she was trying to get free in the car as she wandered the house. She looked around the familiar rooms, thinking about the memories she had here with James. It made the ache in her heart twinge. She knew James had been a murdering psychopath, but he was kind to her when his brother was harsh. He was her friend. She found herself standing in front of a photograph of her and James. She remembered helping him hang it up. And she remembered the day it had been taken.

Evangeline had finally been healthy enough to go out and James had thought that cause for celebration, so he took her to a carnival. They rode all the rides she wanted to, played all the games she wanted too, and he had even won her a few things in ring tosses and whatnot. She touched the bracelet on her wrist absently. James had won it for her in a puzzle game simply because it had caught her eye. The photograph had been taken by a passerby James had asked to take a picture of them. The two of them had been standing beside eachother, James with one arm thrown around her shoulders and Evangeline with her arms full of stuffed animals of various species and cotton candy. Right before the picture was to be taken, James stuffed a large handful of cotton candy in his mouth, making Evangeline laugh. The photographer caught the moment exactly after that. 

Evangeline took the frame down and walked to her room and set it on the dresser. She missed James terribly. He had been a wonderful friend to her. But now he was gone. Now she was stuck with his brother. She sighed and sat at the end of her bed, absentmindedly running her fingertips up and down the new cut on her arm as she hoped that Mary would find her soon. She had lost all faith and trust in Sherlock the moment Jonathan had broken the window. 

There was a soft knock and then the door opened, revealing Jonathan with a first aid kit. He knelt on the floor before her and started to tend to the wound he had inflicted. She didn’t even wince when he brought the alcohol swab to the open wound.

“I’ve taught you to handle pain well, haven’t I, dove?” Jonathan asked.

Evangeline scowled, not caring anymore about the slight pain it brought her from the cuts on her face, “You didn’t  _ teach _ me anything. You would only hurt me more if I let on that I was in any pain. I learned how to hide it on my own. You’ve taught me  _ nothing _ .”

“I’ve taught you more than you realize,” he said calmly. 

“You’ve taught me to be cold and never trust anyone, no matter how kind they seem. Because they’re probably a psycho killer,” she spat. 

He rolled his eyes, “I taught you to be cautious.”

“No. You taught me to be afraid,” she corrected sternly, glaring at him. 

He looked up into her eyes, his own soft and gentle in a way he hadn’t looked at her in so long. It made some of her defense crumble. She felt her heart stutter in her chest. He hadn’t looked at her like that since he had called himself Andrew.

He put a gentle hand on her cheek, and she leaned into his touch as he said, “Oh my darling. Who did this to you?” He asked in a voice soft as velvet and sweet as a sugar cube. 

Evangeline felt her blood boil as she opened her eyes and tried to kill him with her gaze, “You did, you bastard.”

Jonathan pressed his thumb into her cut on her cheek, “Say that again and I’ll kill you.”

She rolled her eyes, “I wish you’d just get it over with already. You’re all talk, you know. You’ll say you’ll kill me, then beat me within an inch of my life, and then I live. If you’re going to kill me, at least do it properly.”

“Don’t tempt me, darling,” he released his hold on her face, “Now, what would you like for dinner?”

She thought for a moment, “Pasta would be nice.”

“Is bowtie pasta still your favorite?”

She shrugged, “It’s the most exciting kind. Everything else is too linear.”

Jonathan chuckled and got to his feet before planting a kiss on the crown of her head, “Never change, my love.”

Evangeline watched him walk out the door and looked around for something that would possibly let her escape. She looked to the window and went to it, undoing the latch and pulling it open. She felt the sweet breeze full of the smell of the wild flowers that grew just a few miles from the house and closed her eyes and took a breath. She had to keep her head on straight. She couldn’t let herself get caught up in the game he was playing. But she had to figure out which game he was playing exactly. He was either sweet or horrible to her, never both. But now it was both. What was he trying to do?

She leaned against the window sill and looked up at the grey sky, heavy with rain that was waiting to fall. How she wished she could just live among the clouds and not have to worry about Jonathan or detectives or pasta. She would be free. She had never been free in her whole life. She had been chained down by the death of her parents and then by Jonathan and then by the lingering trauma and pain and now by him quite literally. If she were a bird she wouldn’t have to worry about anything except the wind and worms. Oh to be a bird.

She sighed and made her way outside to the gardens and started to wander around. Rain started to fall, landing against the soil of the earth in gentle pitter-patter, sliding along leaves and grass and flower petals in a wondrous dance. Evangeline breathed in the smell of the rain and felt a shiver run through her body as the cold started to get to her. She didn’t care though. She felt alive. She felt free.


	8. Chapter 8

That freedom ended all too soon. When Evangeline made her way back to the house, she was soaking wet and shivering from the cold. But she didn’t care. She went to the kitchen and sat at the table to eat what Jonathan or the cook, she didn’t know nor did she care, had prepared.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jonathan cried. 

Evangeline visibly shivered in her seat from the cold, “Eating pasta, what does it look like?”

“Let’s get you dry and warm before you catch cold,” he said, reaching to help her do just that.

“Touch me and I’ll bite your hand off,” she growled.

“You’re going to get sick if you don’t get dry and warm,” Jonathan warned.

“Good. Then you’ll leave me alone.”

He rolled his eyes, “You’re be dramatic, dove. Let me take care of you.”

“Pass.”

He shook his head, “Fine. Have it your way.”

“Thank you, I will.”

“But I won’t tend to you when you get sick.”

“Good.”

Jonathan was right. By nightfall, Evangeline felt like death warmed over. Her nose was runny, she felt hot, her head was pounding and her eyes were watery. She sat in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, sweating and shivering at the same time. There was a soft knock at the door and then it opened a bit and a familiar face poked their head in.

“Miss Evangeline, are you alright?”

She turned her head and squinted before her eyes focused on who was speaking, “George?”

“Yes, it’s me. Are you alright? You don’t look very well,” George walked toward her. 

She pushed herself to sit up and shook her head, “That’s because I’m not. I went for a walk in the rain.”

“Again?”

She nodded.

George presses his hand to her forehead and frowned, “You’re burning up, miss.”

She smirked blearily, “You’re not looking too bad yourself, Georgie.”

He chuckled, “Thank you, my dear. I’ll be right back. I’m going to go eat some things and I’ll have you right as rain in no time.”

He went to go do just that. 

Evangeline leaned back against the pillows and chuckled a little bit. George was the family butler and had helped nurse her back to health many a time. He had seen her in every state she had been in. From fragile and sickly to beaming, bright, strong and healthy. He was the one to take care of her while she had been at the manor with Jim when she was recovering from Jonathan’s loving ministrations. Jim stayed by her side as much as he could, but he had business to attend to and he needed sleep as well. It wasn’t uncommon to find him asleep in the chair beside her bed.

George was an older man woth silver-grey hair and kind eyes with smile lines all over his face. Evangeline didn’t know what he could find to smile about, working with the family he did, but he was always smiling at her. He was always kind. He was like a second father to her in a way, after Greg of course.

True to his word, George came back with his medicine cart, complete with a bowl of cool water, a fresh towel, a thermometer and several other bits and pieces that he might need while tending to her. 

“Did Master Jonathan do all this to you?” He asked, pulling the chair next to her bed closer so that he could sit while he tended to her.

She nodded, “Yes. Last night.”

“If I weren’t his employee I’d say many terrible things about him,” George said.

She smiled tiredly, “You always say that.”

“And I always mean it,” he said firmly. 

She yawned, grimacing as it moved her ribs, “I wish Jim were still alive.”

“Do you miss him?” He asked.

“Everyday. I know he wasn’t a good man, but he was good to me. He was my only friend when I had no one. Except you, of course.”

George nodded, “I understand, dear.”

“Do you miss him?”

He nodded, “I do.”

Evangeline let out a yawn.

“Sleep dear. You need the rest.”

She nodded, “Don’t let him in. Please, George.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She let out a breath and finally relaxed, “Thank you.”

Sherlock was pacing the length of the flat, his phone to his ear as he listened to it ring, muttering about all the different ways he would kill his brother if he didn’t pick up the phone.

“What is it?” Mycroft asked in a bored drawl. 

“I need you to help me find Jonathan Moriarty,” Sherlock cut right to the chase. 

“How do you know about him?” Mycroft asked. 

“Evangeline Johnson was attacked and John felt chivalrous and saved her while I restrained him,” Sherlock explained, “Do keep up. I thought you kept tabs on me.”

Mycroft sighed, “I would rather you didn’t get mixed up with him.”

“I made a promise, Mycroft,” Sherlock said. 

A pause. 

“Right. What do you need?”

“I need you to help me find him. He took her right from under my nose, and I don’t intend to let him do it again.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said, “You need to be careful with him. James had a code of sorts. Jonathan has none. He has no qualms about hurting anyone or doing anything.”

“That’s what Evangeline said. I’ll be cautious.”

“And Sherlock?”

Sherlock hummed.

“Kill him if you have to.”

Sherlock chuckled, “Believe me, I have no qualms about that.”


End file.
